The Light
by OneBlondeWeirdo
Summary: After Clarke is injured on a hunting and gathering trip, Bellamy realizes how much he has come to need her and the light she provides. It's only romance if you squint. Since this is set pretty early on in the series, it's now very AU. Rated T to be safe, but it's pretty clean.


**Don't really know where this came from. No, actually, I do :)**

 **I just started watching The 100, and I'm already frighteningly obsessed. I really love watching the relationship between Bellamy and Clarke, and so I thought I'd write a scene that I think could have occurred between the two of them if Clarke got hurt (sorta early on in the series, I don't know exactly when) and Bellamy had to do something about it.**

 **So... this monstrosity was born.**

It happened on a hunting trip, and she shouldn't even have been there.

No, he shouldn't have _allowed_ her to be there. But Bellamy Blake has, for as long as he can remember, been a sucker for the way she tilts her head to one side and purses her lips and raises one eyebrow in a silent challenge—he's a sucker for the way her blonde curls fall over her shoulders when she is daring him to argue with her. So he allowed her to come with him, wanting a few moments alone with the Princess (for a chance to get on her nerves, because it's always funny to watch her bristle at the nickname he uses for her. At least, that's what he tells himself. It most certainly is _not_ that he wants to spend more time with her).

He realizes now that, even if he had told her that no, she couldn't come, she would have done it anyway. He has never held full control over the firecracker that is Clarke Griffin. Even at the beginning, when she insisted on taking a group to Mount Weather, he was smart enough to recognize that she was a threat to his authority. Back then, he hoped that her light—which attracted so many followers to her—would just burn out. Now he finds himself dreading the day it finally does.

The light has been dimming, bit by bit, but it never really goes away. The smiles she allows are few and far between, yes, but there's something about the manner in which she carries herself that speaks volumes. Clarke Griffin is the strongest person Bellamy knows, and so far she's met every challenge with a relatively cool head (except where Finn has been involved) and a steady hand.

Now, he realizes, it is his turn to do the same.

The blood is pouring from the impressive gash on her side, and he curses everything and everyone he can think of as he rips off pieces of shirt to press to the wound. She groans and bites her lip to keep herself from crying out, and he has to turn away from the mess that is her abdomen to keep from relinquishing the pressure he's placing on the wound, because he can't stand it that she's making these noises of pain and _he's the cause of them._

He isn't even sure how this happened, really, and yet he can't stop going over it in his head and trying to figure out where he went wrong.

He called her 'Princess', and she rolled her eyes and leaned down to grab the herb that she needed so desperately (he can't really remember what it was called—Clarke used the scientific name for it, that show-off). Then her eyes were widening and she was running toward him and shoving him to the side and the knife was there, and one of the guys from camp was growling in anger because _that silly girl ruined his plan._ Bellamy will interrogate him later. Right now, the boy is temporarily incapacitated (maybe permanently, he can't tell; the only thing he remembers from that part of the ordeal is his fists slamming into the guy's face… repeatedly).

"You have to c-cauterize it," Clarke shudders, and Bellamy stumbles backward about a foot because _no, no, he can't do that, there's no way he can do that—_ "Bellamy!" she interrupts, and he realizes he's been speaking out loud. "Bellamy, please, it's b-bleeding too m-much, and I'm going to pass out soon, okay?"

"Okay," he says, even though he still hasn't been convinced that this is a good idea.

"Just get your knife really, r-really hot…"

"I know how to cauterize a wound, Princess." He's trying for his usual sarcastic tone, but it comes out choked and broken, and he finds himself clearing his throat in an effort to cover it up. She doesn't notice, though. Her smile is soft and drowsy and it's fading, just like the light in her eyes as they slowly close.

He's shaking her, hard—one hand is on her shoulder, squeezing it and jolting her entire body back and forth. The other is still pressing down on her wound as he shouts at her, trying desperately (and failing, of course, because that's what he does—just ask Charlotte) to keep her awake.

But then she's unconscious, and he's all alone, and it feels like all of the light is gone.

Just like any other man who's surrounded by darkness, he tries to recreate the light. He builds a fire with a fervor he didn't know he possessed, then dips his knife into the hot coals until the blade is a bright, crackling orange. The light isn't bright enough, isn't beautiful enough, but it will do. So Bellamy does what Clarke asked and seals her wound, despite the fact that he's almost sure that it's too little, too late. She's too pale, and the crimson blood that he somehow got on her cheek contrasts starkly with her white skin.

He carries her home, even though it's nighttime and they're at least two miles from camp. He can hardly see anything through the inky blackness that surrounds them, but somehow they make it back.

"Bell?" Octavia's voice greets him, but he barely acknowledges her. "Bellamy, is that Clarke? What happened?"

"Some idiot, trying to kill me. Wanted to gain power and sway in camp, I think. It doesn't matter now," he explains shortly, and it really _doesn't_ matter. Nothing will matter anymore, if Clarke doesn't get the help she needs, and soon. Fortunately, Octavia understands what he needs her to do.

"I'll get Jasper and Monty—they might know what to do," she cries over her shoulder, already running away from him.

He sets Clarke, the light, on his bed in his cozy little tent, and waits.

Later, she will wake up. He will tell her not to be so reckless, and he'll tell her not to be so stupid and reckless next time she decides to come with him on one of his hunting trips. She will snort and make some comment and he'll find himself smiling without even meaning to. Everything will go back to how it was, and they will still be the leaders of a group of ragtag castaways from an experiment.

He won't tell her how much she scared him, or how much he needs her, or how hard he punched the guy who did this to her. But she'll know, somehow. She's got this uncanny ability to see through all of his bullshit, but she only calls him on it when it's absolutely necessary.

Some things, though, she won't know. Bellamy doesn't know if he will ever be able to tell her how captivated he is by every one of her features, or how much he depends on her for support and comfort—comfort that she doesn't even realize she provides. But every man needs the light, and she _is_ the light.

 **Well, there it is. Please review! I appreciate support (I was kinda nervous to post this) and constructive criticism. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!**


End file.
